


IT Chapter 3 (A Pennywise x Reader Story)

by DameoftheDark



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: But you become friends with them as adults, Cute Clown Boi, Eddie and Richie deserved better so I’m giving it to them, Eddie and Stan are alive but how is kind of a spolier, F/M, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Humor, I don’t know how to tag I’m sorry, I’m not sure yet but working on that, Maybe - Freeform, Mild Dubious Consent At First, Pennywise (2017) and Pennywise (1990) are connected but the reason why is a spoiler, Pennywise become part of Loser’s Club, Possessive Penny/Robert, Sexual Content, VERY Gay Richie Tozier, Violence, Virgin Reader, Will edit when I know, You knew the Losers but weren’t friends with them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameoftheDark/pseuds/DameoftheDark
Summary: You never thought you'd return to Derry Maine, but when your mother becomes terminally ill, you know that your place is by her side. You move back into the house you grew up in, and everything is just as you left it. The town, however, is not as you left it; Derry has become a peaceful place, with nary a knife-wielding teen to be seen. No more children have gone missing either, which is a welcomed change from 30 years ago. Something, evidently, happened 3 years prior to your return that changed Derry for the better. Incidentally, that was when the town's newest resident, Robert Gray, moved in. And as it turns out, he's your new neighbor. He's a kind, intelligent, and curious man, maybe a bit too curious at times. He's charming, so his interest in you isn't troubling, but it seems like he knows something you don't. In fact, there appears to be much more to him, as well as you, that you arent' yet aware of. But, not long after becoming aquatinted, darkness begins to engulf Derry once more, and it's up to you, Robert, and some old acquaintances to put an end to IT once and for all.





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first CharacterxReader fic, so I hope you can bear with me. After watching IT Chapter 2, I became inspired to write this, and I hope to keep this going as I do have a story planned. I hope you enjoy this silly little work xD

It all happened so fast. Going by more quickly than one may blink, the blows were dealt, the pain was felt, and the blood was pouring. It stung, it throbbed, it_ hurt. _It wasn’t supposed too, but it did. It hurt like nothing on this or any other earth. Pierced through the abdomen on the solid black substance, deep beneath the tainted soil of the wretched town. It was oddly warm, perhaps because it was once a part of him? Maybe, but that didn’t matter.

He was losing, yet again. Only this time, it was costing him dearly.

If he didn’t end these accursed creatures soon, he would be finished.

Gone.

Over.

Dead.

//**_Never_**_!_//

The thought rang through his mind like a constant bell. He would fight back; he would thrash, he would struggle, and finally, he would sink his teeth into their delicate and fear-laced flesh. Yes, he could still feel it, even now.

That delicious emotion, the one that burdened the human race, the one that satiated him. It was truly the only thing he craved, and he especially longed for the fear that would come from _them_.

They had returned, from where he wasn’t sure. They had gone beyond his parameters. These pitiful organisms had come home and were resisting him.

Hadn’t they learned?

His mouth throbbed as well, no doubt still in pain from when he was pierced by that piece of iron fencing. Truth be told, he hadn’t been hit directly in the Dead Lights before, and that made the pain his physical body was in even more excruciating. Regardless, it would all be worth it when he could, at last, devour these pests.

These playthings.

These rejects.

These _losers_.

It all happened so fast. He was on top of them, ready for the kill, but suddenly, they weren’t afraid anymore. They were calling him small, making him feel as such. He knew he wasn’t, of course he did. But their words, their insults---they got to him.

And he hated that they did.

He was nothing but a clown, a dumb mummy, a stupid painting, a mimic, an imposter, a clown.

Nothing but a clown.

A small, small clown.

And now he was small, all crumpled up in a fleshy heap. He tried to regain his strength, but they weren’t afraid anymore.

They just weren’t afraid.

But now he was, so very much. His heart was in their hands. His time was up.

Now he was afraid, so, so very much.

“**_Look at you, all grown up…_**”

To him, the sound of his heart being crushed was akin to that of a balloon pop. It was loud, quick, but resonated with him as he withered away. The dark chamber faded to blackness, for his vision was dying. Yet, as if to mock him, a memory came crashing to forefront of his mind. It was an image of a man dressed in a vintage suit, standing in front of a mirror, a circus cart behind him. He was a handsome man, to be sure, but the smile on his face and the look in his eyes could only belong to something truly sinister. It was much more simple back then; all he had to do was smile and people would be struck cold, frozen where they stood.

But now its all over, isn’t it? The simple, as well as the complicated.

//**_I guess you won, huh old buddy?_**//

That damn turtle, always being a pain in his Dead Lights.

But perhaps this was inevitable? Too bad. It felt like the fun was only beginning. Although, he had to suppose, that maybe this was his fault for underestimating these losers once again.

A mistake he would not live to regret.

Still, the vision of the man in the suit was a nice send off, he had to admit. At least it was a pleasant little reminder of the past. So perhaps it wasn’t a mockery after all.

He chose to interpret it that way.

It all happened so fast. The fading, the setting quiet, what with the constant buzz of the Dead Lights receding as his conscience did. Still, just before the finality of the blackness could swallow the last part of him, he saw that same man in the suit, standing just over him. He was looking directly into his eyes with his hands in his trouser pockets.

“**Time’s up, Pennywise. Tick tock, tick tock.**”

“**_That goes for the both of us._**”

“**Not so fast, dancey-pants. Your clock may have hit midnight, but mine has restarted.**”

“**_Restarted…?_**”

The man in the suit gave him a smirk, one that sent angry blood through him. This man was no happy send off but was indeed a cold mockery. A hollow reminder of a time he had wished to forget. This form was nothing but a husk, one that was supposed to be sealed away---deep in the recesses of his mind.

But like any other reoccurring nightmare, it came back with a vengeance.

“**_You can’t have this---ANY of this. The circus is closed, Gray._**”

“**Not mine, Pennywise, not mine.**”

He was nothing but a rejected part of him, so why was he so sure? He would die when he himself died. The Earth was lost to them, _both _of them, forever.

“**Did you really think I’d be gone forever? You created me the moment we met _her_, don’t you remember?**”

Yes he did.

And he hated that he did.

“**_Its over! Just let it go!_**”

“**You first.**”

“**_You wretch!_**”

“**I know you are, but what am I?**”

He was nothing. He himself was nothing. They were _both_ nothing.

If the clown could cry…

The Losers had left a little while ago, but he could still hear their voices in the distance. Sounds like Eddie kicked the bucket.

All the while, the man in the suit continued staring at him, a smirk making its way across his face---a face that looked at lot like his own, just without the make-up.

“**You’ve lost, Pennywise. Now it’s my turn.**”

He sounded just like him. He talked just like him. He stood just like him.

Because he was.

But weaker.

“**Now, go to sleep, Penny. It’s time to float.**”

Why was he so strong now?

It all happened so fast. The blackness bled into his vision as he burst into wind-blown flakes. Would he actually be able to remain behind without him? How was that possible? Did the turtle have something do to with it?

If he did, the clown couldn’t remember.

Or maybe, he didn’t want to?


	2. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/N = Your Name  
L/N = Last Name  
E/C = Eye Color  
H/L = Hair Length  
H/C = Hair Color

Derry was always a cold place, and it was not just because of the fall and winter weather. The inhabitants tended to keep to themselves, living their lives separate from even their closest neighbors. It seemed that everyone had something to hide---or had, at least, lacked the desire to let anyone in. No one was immune; kids, teenagers, adults, they _all _seemed either cold, distant, or even hostile.

Point of fact, the teenagers of this sleepy town were particularly malicious. Not a day went by when some teen hadn’t tried to cut someone up or had actually did. It wasn’t uncommon for some 14-year-old to nab their father’s switchblade and shank a classmate or carve their initials into a middle schooler.

The police weren’t much better, unfortunately. Not only did they bully random people on the street, but when they weren’t neglecting their duties, they were dishing out punishments that were far to severe to fit the crimes. If a kid stole a pack of gum, that child would be booked and smacked upside the head, then they were expected to be shoved around the station and possibly kicked to the ground. Such actions were deemed necessary, simply explained as nipping the bad behavior in the bud.

For shanking a classmate or carving up a middle school like a jack o’ lantern, the police would respond by either shooting the assailant into a comma or throwing them over a bridge. Half the time, the cops wouldn’t issue a verbal warning or bother to say the “drop your weapon” bit. When they would finally get around to arresting the assailant, after dragging them out of the river that is, it was unlikely that they would even read said assailant their Miranda Rights.

Many people in Derry believed that the police’s behavior as understandable. It seemed that anyone could become a monster, a fact that never went unnoticed. Normally, cities could estimate which individuals were more likely to commit crimes, but Derry was another story. There was no set profile, no way to gage who would snap and who wouldn’t. Many attributed bad behaviors to an abuse of some kind, but if that was factored into it, then every single person in the town would be robbing hardware stores and assaulting children.

And yet, such was not the case.

Some suffered wretched abuses from their parents, classmates, or both, but never so much as glared at anyone. Some, by comparison, dealt with less but could be found in the town jail for pushing an old man into the road.

It was always a gamble, living in that mountain-laced town. Nothing was ever clear, yet everything was always clear---violence and tragedy was expected, even if its source never was.

That was why you left. As soon as you was able, you drove your shitty car out of Derry, Maine, headed for no where in particular. You had held on for as long as possible, but the last straw had been when a teenaged lesbian couple was chased into the woods by their fellow students and forced to strip for them. The ensuing acts were---and still are---too horrible for you to recall. It was all over the local news, in all the papers, and as it had been in the mid-90s when it happened, not a lot of sympathy was felt.

The girls were going together in secret but had been betrayed by their closest friends. However, some were gracious enough to offer their support, namely their parents and a few others in their class.

Still, it scared you---incensed you, knowing that such a thing could happen. Once you had procured your mother’s old car, you drove right out of that town, hoping to only ever see it again from your rear-view mirror.

Fate was never that kind though, was it?

Your mother was now fatally ill, forcing you to return.

The road leading into Derry hadn’t been kept up, as evident by the numerous potholes. Every time you drove over one, you were sure whiplash was in your future.

Once you laid eyes on the “Welcome to Derry” sign, you felt your stomach sink into your feet. Now you were coming back home, but you couldn’t be in a bigger mood to turn around.

Regardless, your mother meant the world to you. Coming home was the least you could do. The woman had gone through hell just to provide for you and gave you all the love in her heart. For indeed, there wasn’t another mom like Mrs. L/N in all of Derry.

You continued down the road, only coming to a stop when you saw that familiar bridge that lead into downtown. You would spend countless hours on that bridge, joking around with your friends and longing to leave Derry behind you. You smiled at the memory, unable to help yourself.

After a few minutes you drove on, exiting the outside world for what would only be, hopefully, a month of two.

The hospital was located at the edge of town, on the border of the barrens. Its halls reeked of bleach and bad breath, just like you remembered. After inquiring at the receptionist desk, you trekked down the hall to the elevators. Only a minute passed when your ride arrived, and then you were taken to the third floor.

Once the doors opened, the smell of soap flooded your nose. You had to admit, it was a welcomed departure from the stale scent of the lobby.

Without making another inquiry, you ventured to the right, walking to a room at the end of the hall. You knocked twice, as was customary, and when given permission you opened the heavy door.

Lying on the bed was your mother, old and delicate. The woman resembled a raisin, but her eyes still had their spark. Though she was supposed to be terminal, nothing could rob her E/C eyes of their youthful light.

“Y/N,” she said weakly, a smile adorning her features.

“Mom,” you replied, your tone mouse-like.

“Don’t look so scared, pumpkin, everyone ends up like this at some point.”

You walked into the door and took a seat in the stool in front of the bed.

“I think that’s what scares most people.”

“True. Many people don’t want to imagine themselves in my place. Who could blame them?”

“They’re too cowardly to accept their mortality.”

The older woman nodded.

“Too true,” she agreed.

You looked down, eyes landing on the white blanket covering your mother’s belly.

“Does it hurt?” you asked.

“Not really, but that’s thanks to the morphine,” your mother proclaimed. “And right now, I just feel _great_.”

You giggled. Always a riot, this one.

“Say, Y/N,” your mother began, gaining your attention. “How has life been in New York? It hasn’t been too rough, has it?”

“No,” you started with a shake of you head. “Its dirtier than Derry, and noisier, but its not so bad.”

“Ohh, I just hear all these terrible things on the news, like how the city is a cesspool and crime is skyrocketing,” your mother said in a worried tone.

“I promise mom, I’m staying safe,” you replied, taking hold of the weaker woman’s hand.

New York was the first place you hit when you left Derry, and certain things occurred that enabled your stay. For once you were employed at a prestigious university, there was no going back.

“I just hope that you’re able to support yourself.”

“I’m doing fine, mom, really,” you insisted, smiling and gripping your mother’s hands a little firmer. “You worry too much.”

“It’s dangerous out there, Y/N,” your mother said, that gleam in her eye mirroring that of a cornered rabbit’s.

“It’s no safer than Derry.”

Then, your mother cocked her head and looked puzzled.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom, you _know_ how dangerous this town can be. One a good day, this place makes the West Side look like a kitten farm.”

Your mother blinked several times in rapid succession. Her confusion of palpable, as evident by her expression.

You felt compelled to explain.

“You remember all the petty crimes and assaults that happened here when I was a kid? Every other day, it seemed like some kid had sent someone in here, and even _adults_ in this town were always either hurting each other or their own children.”

The elderly woman blinked again, but something in her eyes seemed to recall.

“Not to mention all the kids that went missing when I was in middle school. They never caught the guy, nor did they ever find the kids. It was scary mom, real scary.”

Your mother looked at her lap and then nodded.

“But what was even scarier was the fact that no one seemed to care. No one actually looked for the kids, and the police didn’t try all that hard. The level of apathy and disregard for human life is what chased me away, mom. This town is dark, cold, and indifferent.”

“I remember when those kids went missing,” your mother said. “I was terrified that the same would happen to you.”

“You seemed to be the only one who cared.”

“Not so,” she rebuked, gazing up at you with harsh brows. “Mrs. Hockstetter was worried to high heaven when her son didn’t come home.”

Patrick Hockstetter was a bully and an asshole. You weren’t too sad to see him gone, but it still concerned you that the police felt the same way.

Police aren’t supposed to be apathetic.

“And she was grief-stricken when he was believed to be dead.”

“I know, but her feelings weren’t the norm.”

“Dear,” your mother began, placing her other hand over yours. “Things have changed in Derry. People are a lot more hospitable now. I think you’ll come to see that while you’re here.”

Why did you doubt that?

“Is the house still in shape?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

In response, you mother sighed.

“Yes, everything is as you left it. I won’t be moving back in for a while, so you have full run of the place.”

Your face became decorated in puzzlement.

“Wait, I thought you were…well..you know…?”

“Termial? Yes, that’s what the doctors said, but they want to keep me here for some more texts to be sure. Then they’ll let me go home.”

Your mother was born and raised in the house you grew up in. She treasured it as much as she did you. Generations of her family lived in that house when her great-grandparents moved in in the late 19th century. Her great-grandfather built the home himself, and he and his wife died there, as did their son, your mother’s grandfather. Then his son died in that house, and now your mother wished to leave this world in the same manner.

You shivered at the thought of _you_ following the same tradition.

“I just don’t like that they’re keeping you here for a farce,” you muttered.

“They want to make sure they’re correct, Y/N,” the older woman said soothingly, petting your H/L H/C hair calmly. “No sense sending me to my deathbed when it’s premature.”

You looked your mother in the eye.

“Still…”

She sighed again and hugged you, but her grip was weak and her body felt small compared to yours. Seeing her was one thing, but now, holding her, you understood just how little time she really had left.

Tears licked at the corners of your eyes and you blinked them away. Crying in public made you feel uncomfortable, since you didn’t take too kindly to unwanted attention. Even from a young age, you never liked to cry in front of others. Too many questions would be asked, too many people would stare, and too many of them would snicker.

When you both pulled away, you noticed that fatigue hung over your mother’s features. You chuckled and rose from the stool.

“You need some rest, by the looks of it.”

“I don’t need any more rest then a dead person.”

“All the same, I doubt you’ll be awake much longer anyway. I’ll come back a little later.”

Your mother shifted in her bed, turning to fully face you.

“I bet you want to hurry on out of here. I don’t blame you. It smells like sick people,” she said with some snark.

You laughed.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” you stated before turning to the door.

“Buh-bye honey,” your mother said just before you heard a yawn.

Your smile faded as you exited the room. Would that woman really be out of your life soon? Would she really be gone in manner of weeks?

You already knew the answers to these questions, but that didn’t stop you from asking.

*************** 

Once the two-story light blue house came into view, more nostalgia flooded your mind. Just as in childhood, the house had a large porch and white-picket fence, along with a neatly kept lawn, large windows, and a rickety porch swing. Each window was coupled with a set of white faux stutters, ones that looked in need a good paint job; the ivory gloss it once possessed had long since faded, and it was in fact chipping in places. When was the last time they had been repainted?

You had to apply this question to the rest of the house. The blue was faded, chipping, and had a dull and even sad feel to it. None the less, you were smiling as you stepped out of the car. You walked up the driveway and made a right, venturing into the small yard. You stopped, closed your eyes and inhaled, taking in the faint smell of gardenias. Your mother loved those flowers so.

You made a mental note to keep some planted in the garden in memory of her.

When you opened your eyes, you saw someone standing across the street, looking in your direction. You weren’t sure if they were looking at you, but you smiled anyway, trying to both by polite and to calm yourself down from the sudden rush you got.

They didn’t smile back, merely stared.

Upon closer inspection, this person seemed to be, indeed, looking in your direction.

At _you_.

That same rush of nerves hit you again, and unsure of what to do you gave a timid wave. To your surprise, the individual cocked their head, and it suddenly became clear that it was a man.

A tall man, in fact.

He had to be 6 foot 4 at _least_.

He continued to stare, and it was quite unnerving. You decided to make haste into the house, but you didn’t want to appear rude, so you smiled and waved again, this time with more enthusiasm. Then you started to walk up the path to the porch when you felt a chill go up your spine. It was stomach-dropping feeling, one that would cause one to freeze in their tracks.

And so did you.

Without really thinking, you turned back around, but found no one was there. The man who had been standing across the street was gone. You weren’t sure what was more unsettling; the fact that he had disappeared so suddenly, or the fact that he had been staring at you in the first place.

“Probably both,” you muttered to yourself.

Fiddling with your keys as you stepped onto the porch, you wondered if that man had mistaken you for someone else, or was just observing you in general. Maybe he was socially awkward or perhaps he didn’t care about seeming creepy? Did he want something? Was he curious about you in some way?

You put the key in the lock of the front door and turned it, granting you access to the home you knew so fondly. You walked inside, taking in the familiar hallway that took you into the living room, which, if memory served, housed a large olive green couch and matching chairs, a granite coffee table with a porcelain bowl filled with tootsie rolls, a TV that was probably too old to work anymore, and a brick fireplace with a overly-cluttered mantel.

You entered the living room from that short hallway, and your face lit up. Everything was were it was supposed to be.

You sat down on the couch, eyes wandering to all the framed photographs on the wall to your left. Your mother called it your “Wall of Achievements”, since it was adorned with not just photos, but also certificates and your middle and high school diplomas.

The faces of your friends brought back both good and bad memories. You recalled having them over almost all the time, getting into all kinds of mischief. You remembered going to the arcade and wasting all your allowance on tokens. You remembered going to the barrens and nearly drowning when one of your friends dared you to hold your breath for 5 whole minutes.

Then you recalled sitting in your geography class after failing a big test. All of your friends had passed it, and they teased you about it. It was nothing cruel, but at the time it made you feel like the smallest thing in the universe.

You had been sitting alone in the class, after it was over, silently crying. You didn’t want to have to repeat the 8th grade and not graduate with your friends. Doubt was overcoming your mind and you remembered ripping your test to shreds.

That was when a girl walked in. She wasn’t in any of your classes, but you knew her well. She was considered the school slut, or the town bicycle.

Her name was Beverley Marsh. 

She looked startled when she noticed you. She was holding a cigarette in between her fingers and a lighter was held tightly in her other hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was still in here,” she said meekly.

“It’s fine,” you responded. You hadn’t had an opinion on this girl one way or another, so her presence didn’t really bother you.

She stood in the doorway, seemingly deciding whether or not to come in. You made a motion with your arm, welcoming her into the room. In reply, she gave a quick nod and a quiet “thanks” before swiftly walking to a nearby desk. She lit her cigarette and exhaled loudly, releasing a pent-up breath.

“You smoke inside?” you asked after a minute of silence.

She turned her head over her shoulder to look at you. Then she pointed, with her cigarette, at the ceiling. You followed with your eyes and noticed a busted security camera.

“It’s my secret place,” she stated, taking another inhale of smoke.

“Uh huh,” you vocalized, tilting your head as your gaze was still on the camera. 

“Want one?” she asked, holding out her box of cigarettes in your direction, which was a funny gesture to you, since she was three rows away and at the front of the room. “You look like you need it.”

“No thanks,” you said, putting your hand up. “My mom would kill me.”

“She would never know.”

You had actually contemplated it for a minute, pondering the idea of letting go of your stress in another way. Usually, at that age, you were content to beat some poor shmuck at Street Fighter, but you hadn’t yet found the strength in your legs to stand up, let alone take you all the way downtown.

“Sure,” you agreed. Even now, you could remember feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Beverley rose from her seat and walked over to you, only stopping to suddenly plunk herself down in the seat in front of yours. She held out the box again, with three cigarettes sticking out. You tentatively took one and held it in staking fingers. Beverly had smiled then, probably amused at your lack of experience.

You glared in response but said nothing.

Then she held out her lighter.

“I’m assuming you don’t have one.”

“No, I don’t,” you said with a hint of spite in your voice.

“Here, I’ll get it,” she offered as you held the cigarette to you mouth. With a flick of her thumb, the lighter produced a tiny orange flame. Beverley leaned over the back of her chair and lit your cigarette as you placed it between your lips. When she gave you a knowing look, you realized that you were supposed to inhale.

So you did.

You hacked and choked, feeling the foreign smoke burn the inside of your mouth and your throat. It traveled up your nose, which only served to worsen the incredibly uncomfortable feeling.

Plus, it tasted terrible.

“Trust me, you get used to it,” Beverley said as she slid back down into her seat.

“Why would anyone _want _to?” you asked in earnest, but not without a bit of criticism in your tone.

She laughed. “Why would anyone want to drink, gamble, or play Street Fighter for 8 solid hours?”

You rose an eyebrow.

“Because it feels good.”

“This doesn’t feel good to me,” you stated, glancing at the offending roll of tobacco in between your fingers.

“What feels good to some people may not feel good to others.”

“Did _you _feel good the first time you tried this?”

“Nah, it was disgusting.”

You remembered giving Beverley an admonished look, which earned you a laugh in response. She was definitely an odd person, but you never held that against her. She always seemed to be alone, which you did feel bad about. But even after your encounter with her after your class, you made no effort to become friends. You stuck with your friend group, doing the same things you had always done. Luckily, you didn’t fail geography that year, nor did you fail another test after that one.

You also never tried smoking again.

Whenever your gaze caught Beverley’s in the halls, she would smile. You would smile back, but a part of you felt guilty. Every time you saw her, you wondered if you should’ve tried to get to know her. You knew she was bullied and you knew that she didn’t have any friends.

Although, towards the end of that semester, you recalled seeing her with a group of boys, always joking around or talking about something that appeared to be serious.

Everyone else, including your own friends, thought she was banging all of them, but you doubted that. To you, it looked like she had finally made some good friends.

You had to wonder; how was she doing now? Had she gotten out of Derry just like you did? You weren’t sure why, but you hoped so.

You rose from the couch, suddenly feeling a bit peckish. You walked back to that small hallway and turned immediately to the right, entering through a modest archway an into an equally modest kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, you also remembered when Beverley Marsh and 6 other boys disappeared for 24 hours. As was to be expected, no one seemed particularly concerned, and when they reappeared people cared even less. Everyone in your grade just assumed that they’d gone to the barrens and had an orgy, which disgusted you.

After all this time, you had to ask yourself, where had they gone?

Did it really matter to you? It shouldn’t have, but you couldn’t help but be curious.

Your eyes spotted leftover Chinese on the top shelve, so you grabbed it. Your mother wasn’t one for wasting, so you were sure she would want you to have it.

Walking about into the living room which a mouth-full of chow-mein, something caught your eye. The living room also had a sliding glass door that lead into the backyard (if you could even call it that, it was down-right puny), and the lock was always dicky---a fact that made the sight before you all the more frightening. A solid black figure stood directly outside the doors, staring back at you. But you couldn’t tell it if was really staring, because it had _no eyes. _

In point of fact, it didn’t have any features whatsoever. It was like a shadow, only it was 3-dimenstioal, and appearing to be _breathing_.

You were frozen, E/C eyes as wide as saucers. You wanted to scream, to run, to throw your food into the door in hopes of startling it, but nothing was happening; you couldn’t make your body respond. Your heart was pounding in your chest, you suddenly felt sick, and your eyes began darting from the door to the hall adjacent to you. Your room was down that hall, as was your mother’s and a bathroom. There was no escape that way, but if you ran down the hall behind you…

As soon as you considered this, the figure moved toward the door. Instinctively, you moved backward, wishing that you could only keep it up. Then, instead of simply opening the door, the figure oozed _through_ the door. It spilled onto the floor, pooling into a puddle of black sludge. However, it only took seconds for it to regain its humanoid shape. Now that it was inside, its uncanny moans were fully audible to you. Your heart plummeted into your stomach, causing you to drop your food. The sound the carton made once it hit the floor was deafened by the creature’s groans, which sounded akin to something in great agony. Despite this though, the cacophony did not inspire pity. Rather, it induced immense dread and fear.

It shimmed closer to you and you ran, finally finding strength in your legs. You bolted out the front door, only turning around once you were off the porch. You could see it still making its way to you, and now the only think crossing your mind was how do get it out of the house. Perhaps it would chase you all the way to the barrens, but then what? Could you lose it there?

It wasn’t moving all that fast, so you could conceivably lose it in town, but that would be disastrous. Though you held no love for Derry, you didn’t want to endanger it unnecessarily. Maybe it would just be easier to lead it into the woods further up the street?

You looked to the left, eyeballing the row of modest houses that adorned the block. Luckily (or unluckily), no one was around.

Then you looked back, seeing that the creature was now on your porch, and therefore much closer to you than you would like.

You made a b-line for the gate and opened with a swift but clumsy hip-bump. Without looking back, you booked it down the sidewalk, trying not to hyper-ventilate as you barely felt the ground beneath your feet. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d run this fast, and you hoped that you’d never have to again.

Looking over your shoulder, you noticed that the creature was moving much faster than in your house. It appeared to be racing after you, almost matching your speed.

You suppressed the urge the yell, not wanting to draw attention to what was happening. True, if you made a ruckus then maybe you would receive help, but you didn’t want to possibly endanger someone.

Plus, you didn’t trust anyone in this town.

You would just lead this rather disturbing pursuer into the woods and pray to God you could lose it within the thick brush.

A fork in the road was approaching, and as if you were on autopilot, you made a hard right. You knew that this was the quickest way to the thicket, even if the children of Derry avoided this road like the plague. You didn’t dare look at the street sign, knowing that if you did you may just freeze up like earlier. Right now, you couldn’t afford that.

Besides, you were an adult now. This street was no more scary than certain parts of the West Side at night, which you were used to.

Regrettably.

And regardless, you were too old to believe in the stories of this particular stretch of road. You were too mature to fall victim to superstition and old wives tales. Yes, there had been lots of bad history here, but that didn’t mean anything in this day and age.

Or so you told yourself.

If you were currently being chased by a mysterious black sludge that moved at alarming speeds, then didn’t that imply that anything was possible?

You shook your head. You needed to think about something else _now_.

Then, as your feet continued to pound on the shoddy street, an all too familiar house loomed ahead of you. The anxious feeling in your gut intensified, your mind screaming at you to stop and turn back. But you knew you couldn’t. Nothing could get in your way, or you were dead.

You shut your eyes, despite knowing that just because you couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Even so, you couldn’t think of a better way to cope with the chard-looking edifice that was getting closer and closer. Every kid in town knew about this house. It was supposed to be haunted or possessed; it was supposed to be the home of ghosts and goblins, demons and even Satan himself, depending on who you asked. People claimed to see movement in the windows, and neighbors swore they heard strange sounds coming from the house. Every single kid said they didn’t believe in the claims, but every single kid _did _in fact believe. It wasn’t based on anything logical, but rather on an instinctual fear, one that had insured mankind’s survival for thousands of years.

And now that same fear was coursing through your veins.

Then your foot hit something in the road, tripping you and causing you to open your eyes. As you maneuvered clumsily to stay upright, your gaze went down in order to identify what had tripped you up.

It was but a simple rock.

As quickly as the irritation hit you, you felt a rising sense of dread. You were now at a dead stop, and against your better judgment, you looked up and to the right of you.

In front of you was the Neibolt House.

You panted, staring in trepidation at the ominous structure. It was just as fearsome as you remembered, with its musty windows and dead grass and mangled fence. Gulping down an anxious breath, you turned back around, hoping in vain that the creature had vanished.

It hadn’t.

In fact, it seemed to be moving even faster.

You screamed, finally unable to keep it together any longer. First, you’d been called back to a town you never wanted to see again because your mother was terminal, but now you were being chased by some putrid monster and was also now standing in front of the scariest house in the entire state of Maine.

Tears began to flow from your eyes as you ran into the yard of the house, all reason lost on you. You hadn’t a clue what you were doing, for fear and sorrow had overcome you. Now, you weren’t sure you knew whether you were still running from the creature or were merely cornering yourself. Your head darted around, looking for a direction to run in, and something told you to go around the back of the house. So, completely out the breath, you staggered around the left side of the house, making note of a horrid smell as you passed. Had an animal died in there?

Once you reached the backyard of the Neibolt House, you bent over, placing you hands to your knees as you tried to take in more oxygen. Your legs were soar, your throat was parched, and you face felt was hot as a boiling kettle. The rancid odor was still palpable, leading you to believe that either something large had died in the house, or it was the collective smell of multiple dead organisms.

The smell was so bad you had to cover your face, shieling your nose and mouth with a trembling hand. You had never smelled death before, but you were always told that it was distinct smell you never forget.

You weren’t told wrong, apparently.

Then the sound the crunching grass assaulted your ears, causing you to turn around. The black monstrosity trudged forward still, leaving behind a trail of equally rank quality.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered in breathless panic. How much longer----and how much farther----did this thing intend on chasing you? 

You then noticed a piece of fencing out of the corner of your eye. You bolted for it and seized it in weak hands. Now harmed, you held a timidly determined expression, standing your ground as best you could.

“Get back!” you warned.

In response, the monster merely groaned.

“Get the _fuck _back!” you yelled, waving the rot iron fence post back and forth. “Stay away from me!”

A hole started to open up in what was presumably the creature’s face. The larger it got, the louder the moans, and soon they were deafening. You held your hands to your ears, fearing your ear drums would burst.

You cried out, closing one eye as the pitch of the creature’s wails peaked. It felt like your head was going to split open.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you, coupled with a rage that could only be described as primal. Abandoning your ears to their fate, you yelled at the top of your lungs and thrust the post into the hole in the creature’s head. A sickening squish could be heard amongst the wailing, and, appropriately, made the wailing worse. Only this time, the pitch lowered dramatically, lessening the pain to your ears. You stumbled back, taking at least three steps away from the creature. As the pitch lowered, the cries died away, and suddenly all was silent.

You stared at the monster, unsure of what it was going to do. Was this the calm before the storm?

Then sludge spread from under the creature, but it wasn’t losing any form. A faint buzzing became audible as the hole go bigger, revealing something within that appeared to be glowing; orange-ish yellow light manifested from the creature’s mouth (you presumed that the hole was its mouth). As soon as you saw it, something told you to not look at it, so you didn’t. Then you felt dizzy, sick to your stomach. Something within you told you that if you looked at it, you were worse than dead. This voice, this instinct, it was familiar somehow, or at least, the message it was conveying was familiar. It was as if you knew of this light’s danger from some previous encounter. That light…had you seen it somewhere before?

Bile built up in your throat and your vision blurred. You had no idea what was happening, but you knew you had to run.

But run where?

You tried to out-run this monstrosity, but to no avail. It had been gaining speed on you anyway. It was only a matter of time before it caught up to you.

The stench of the sludge, mixed with the odor of Neibolt House, and coupled with your exhausted state was now getting to you. At least, you assumed so, for what else could explain the great discomfort you were feeling? It was like an attack of Vertigo, but you had never suffered from it before, nor did it run in your family. Everything around you, from the house to the trees and the fence, began to blend together much like a water-color painting. Your environment dripped away, and a faint image of a rolling pasture appeared through its remnants. The Neibolt house dripped away too, revealing a stone well. You recalled from school that the Neibolt House was also called the Well House, since it was believed to have been built over the ruins of an old well from the town’s founding. Your eyes widened as the well, in addition to the hills, became clearer and clearer. It was as if pictures you had seen of Old Derry and present Derry were blending together, with the former slowly washing away.

Then your eyes moved down, looking over your person. What you saw shocked you, even in your rattled and ill state; where your white blouse, jeans, and brown boots had once been was now replaced by a dress---a red one. It was a taffeta promenade dress, made of velvet and lined with linen and cotton twill. It was decorated with tassels and elaborate fringing, with an onyx broch sitting at the neck of the gown, holding the collar together. You blinked in wonder, all while trying to make sense of these bizarre images.

The monster was still emitting a low-frequency buzz, which you surmised was coming from the light, though you weren’t sure why. You shut your eyes, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to throw up.

The dizziness was too much; you felt like you were on a high-speed merry go round, and for a moment you thought you heard the song of one.

Had you gone mad? Were you somehow crazy? Was this creature making you go insane?

Then, out the of fading and blending images and the buzzing, you heard a faint voice. It wasn’t clear to your ears, but it sounded like it was yelling.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw someone running in your direction. The figure was blurry, as was everything else, but you could tell it was human. They ran with speed the devil would envious of, and soon they had run past you and made impact with the creature.

Blinking madly, you tried to make out the scene before you. Both figures were tussling about the ground---the sounds of crunching grass colliding with the buzzing of the orange-ish light. The human-looking one mounted the monster and held their arms up, perhaps preparing to slam their fists into the creature’s face, but they were soon knocked off. They landed to the right of the monster, but they recovered quickly. They launched themselves onto the back of the monster, grabbing it by the neck (or what presumed was its neck) with their arms. You heard grunts from them, frustrated and straining, before you heard a yell from your rescuer.

“Run!” they yelled, in a voice that was definitely masculine.

You blinked again, trying as hard as you could to get a clearer picture of him. However, your vision only blurred further, causing you to rub your eyes furiously.

“Go, now!” he commanded, his tone a mixture of frustration and concern.

“B-but why---?”

What was happening to you? Everything around you was still blending together. The homes behind the backyard were giving way to more rolling hills, adorned with what appeared to be cows and a few horses. You even felt a breeze that didn’t seem to belong to the warm summer air of the town you previously knew.

The buzzing was getting louder to you, almost drowning out your rescuer. 

“Just go!”

You shook your head, but not in refusal of his demand. You just wanted to make sense of them all, these strange visions. And if you could’ve run away, you would have by now. Whoever your savior was, he was completely oblivious to what you were experiencing.

“I-I can’t!” you shouted, irritation, nausea, and fear fueling your words.

“Just trust me!”

“I can’t see! I can’t see anything! Everything’s mixing together!”

“It’s just an illusion!” your rescuer stated, his voice much clearer now. “The further away you get, the better you’ll be!”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You don’t, but you don’t have any other options, do you?”

Though he was still yelling, something in his tone sounded genuine. If he was being truthful, then perhaps it would be best to heed his commands. After all, he _had_ fought of the creature that was chasing you and was holding it off even now.

“GO!”

Closing your eyes again, and ignoring everything in your body, you turned and ran at a dead sprint. Almost immediately, the buzzing died away and your nausea vanished.

When you opened your eyes once again, you found yourself in the front yard of the Neibolt House, running quickly into the street. You looked back, watching the house as it got smaller and smaller behind you.

It was back---the house, the _other _houses, the streetlights, the cars, all of it. The hills and the well were gone, and when you looked down, the red dress you were in was gone too. Once again, you were in your blouse, jeans, and boots.

You stopped once you were at that familiar fork in the road. Panting like a dog, you bent over until you heard your spine crack. Then, with no strength left, you collapsed in the street, sitting with your legs bent at the knees. Fortunately, there was still no one about.

All but your savior, who was probably still at the Neibolt House.

Should you go back and help? Whoever he was, he seemed to know what that thing was. He was aware of how to stop the “illusion”, as he called it, and he didn’t seem to be afraid of whatever that creature was. Was he in trouble now? Could the creature have killed him in her place?

Dread flooded your brain at the thought. You couldn’t doom someone to a fate as wretched as yours had been, or to something even worse than that.

You rose to your feet, knowing you had to go back. Though fear ordered you to keep heading home, you ran back in the direction of the Neibolt House. You had to at least make sure he was O.K. You had to know if he had beaten that thing or had at least gotten away.

Once in front of the house again, you didn’t hear the buzzing noise, prompting you to investigate the backyard again. As you jogged through the side yard again, you could still smell that vile odor from inside the house. Now you were sure something dead lay within.

You stopped then, having reached the backyard. There was nothing there.

No black sludge monster, no man fending it off, nothing.

The trail of ooze that creature left behind was gone too.

It was all gone.

****************

Now you were sure you were mad.

Nothing remained at the Neibolt House, reinforcing the idea that nothing had happened at all. But it seemed so real---something _had _to have happened.

But how could you explain it?

No trace remained of the creature, nor that of a struggle.

Plus, your vision was blurry, so maybe you _thought _you saw someone? And your ears were flooded with that odd buzzing sound, so maybe you _thought _you heard him yelling at you?

But you talked to him…he responded to you.

But people who heard voices claimed that they talked back, so this didn’t help your case.

What were you supposed to believe? You had always been a logical person, someone who needed to see the evidence and be provided with facts. There was nothing left of the trail, the buzzing was gone, and, once again, there was no signs of a struggle.

You lay on the couch in the living room, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Had the return to Derry scared you so much that you would have such a powerful hallucination?

This seemed doubtful.

But you couldn’t deny the strange nature of the whole thing. You had to consider the state of mind you were in when you arrived at your house; you were greatly upset by the news of your mother, you were hungry, and you were hating the universe for sending you back to Derry.

Could all of that have been the catalyst for such a frightening experience?

You shook your head. Something about all of this just didn’t add up. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something important. Was it a prank, maybe? Was the Chinese food spiked?

Were you just crazy?

“No, I’m not crazy!” you defended, though to nothing but the air. “What happened was real, it had to be. It was too scary _not _to be.”

You sat up, holding your hands in your lap. Frowning at the carpet, you contemplated the man who saved you; he seemed to be tall, though you couldn’t be sure, and his voice was not too low or too high. He also seemed to be lean, but he had the strength to fend off the thing that chased you. Regarding facial features or any finer details, however, you could make out none. Your vision had been to muddled see anything definite. 

Your stomach growled then, giving you pause.

“Oh shit, that’s right,” you started. “I was eating before, and I never got to finish it.”

Though leftover floor-Chinese didn’t strike you as all that delicious.

You rose and walked to the carton of chow mein in the entry hall. You scooped it up and disposed of it in the kitchen garage. As you surveyed the cabinets around you, you humored cooking something for yourself.

Then you chuckled.

“I don’t cook.”

With a sigh, you opted to order a pizza and call it a day. Pulling out your phone, you suddenly heard the doorbell.

You froze, unsure of who could be coming to call.

Was it a friend of your mother? Was it the people responsible for that prank on you earlier?

You shook your head again. Your doubts were really getting annoying.

Taking a step into the hall, you heard the doorbell again. Whoever it was, they were persistent.

With a gulp, you walked to the front door. For reasons that eluded you, the front door of your childhood home never had a peep hole. Due to this, you and your mother never knew who was at the door until you opened it, and in Derry, this was a tricky situation. Still, it went against your rearing to ignore someone at the door.

You opened the door, finding a stranger standing on your porch. He was tall, lean, and wore a kind smile on his rather handsome face. In fact, to say that his gentleman was handsome did him a disservice---in your mind at least. He was downright _gorgeous_, with a defined jaw, high cheek bones, plump lips, and crystalline blue eyes. His hair, in addition, was short and brown, but looked soft to the touch.

You were practically gawking, and you had to catch yourself before he noticed.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you’ve seen my dog?” he asked, holding his arms behind his back.

“Dog?”

“Yes, I’m afraid he got away from me. He’s always quite the rascal.”

You shook you head.

“No, I haven’t seen him, I’m sorry.”

The man sighed. “That’s alright. I’m just so worried about him.”

“I can imagine,” you said, leaning against the door frame. “I’ve never lost a pet before, but I know a few who have. It seems rough.”

“He’s always getting away from me,” he stated, looking down at the wooden boards of the porch. “I’ll tell you, he’s actually a bit of a pain.”

“But you love him, huh?” you asked with a smirk.

He looked back up at you, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Yes, I love him very much.”

His tone was clear and his voice was calm, but his eyes seemed to sparkle. They had a light to them that you had never seen before, and it just about put you in a trance. They were breathtaking, those pools of blue.

“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said in parting, beginning to turn around.

But did he have to go?

“W-wait---”

Then, almost on cue, barking emanated from your backyard. Both you and the man on your porch heard it, and after a quick glance at each other, he regarded you again: “Do you mind if I…?”

“S-sure, by all means.”

You both entered the house, and without so much as a word, the man walked past you and to the sliding glass door in your living room. There, on the other side was a Pomeranian, all smiles as it barked in joy. It bounces up and down, putting its paws on the door in a display of eagerness to reach its master.

The man opened the door and the dog ran into his arms. It licked his face and he giggled like a little boy.

Your stomach danced at the scene---it was just too cute to bear! The sight of a sinfully beautiful man lovingly embracing a cute little puppers was just too much for your heart to witness.

“He’s so cute!” you enthused, trekking over to the dog. When it saw you, it only seemed to get happier. “He’s adorable!”

“Thank you,” the man acknowledged with a smile, his face mirroring that of a child’s after receiving praise.

“What’s his name?”

“Pom Pom.”

“That’s so cute!” you gushed, wiggling with pent of enthusiasm.

He laughed. “I’m glad you think so.”

Your eyes found his, and once again, you were taken prisoner by them. Your heartbeat increased as you felt yourself being drawn to his gleaming orbs.

“Again, I’m sorry to have troubled you,” he said, rising and holding the dog close to his chest.

“N-no no, it’s no problem,” you said clumsily. You didn’t want him to leave just yet. You wanted to remain in his presence for just a bit longer. “Maybe I can make you some coffee?”

“No thank you, but I appreciate the offer,” he responded, his smile making your stomach cartwheel.

“But I can’t just let you go without offering some kind of refreshment,” you claimed, somewhat proud of how smooth you were.

“Well, you technically _did _offer me something, and I politely refused,” he explicated, rubbing Pom Pom’s fluffy abdomen.

“Well, that’s true…”

Now what?

He laughed again. “Believe me, I appreciate your kindness, but I’m just glad you helped me find my dog.”

“But I didn’t really do anything. Your dog just…sort of…_appeared_ there…”

“Well then, I’m glad he appeared in _your _yard,” the man stated, looked down into your eyes. You felt his gaze bear into you, but it wasn’t oppressive or intimidating. Rather, it would be more accurate to say that his gaze was deep, as if he was looking right into your soul.

You felt a blush rise in your cheeks.

“Maybe we’ll see more of each other. I live just across the street,” he informed.

“O-oh yeah?”

He chuckled. “That’s right.”

Then you realized something; was _he _the one who was staring at you earlier? The frame was right, and the hair color looked similar.

Was he just thinking that his dog was in your yard? Was that all it was?

You felt like laughing.

“I suppose I should welcome you to the neighborhood. I would have earlier, but you know, my dog was missing.”

“Oh! That’s O.K., no biggy. And there’s no need to welcome me here, I actually grew up in this house.”

“No kidding?” he asked, curiosity adorning his features.

“Uh huh. Derry born and raised.”

“Well I just moved here 3 years ago, so I supposed _you _should be welcoming _me_,” he said coyly.

You smirked. “Right. But why would you move here? Why would _anyone_ move to Derry?”

“To reconnect with my roots,” he explained.

“So, wait, are you from here too?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Well, what did _that _mean?

“Let’s just say I lost something a long time ago, and I came back to find it,” he enlightened.

“Then I hope you do,” you said with a smile.

“I think I may have,” the man stated in a quiet tone, gazing down at you unblinking. Once again, you were at the mercy of your thumping heart. Your gut felt invaded by butterflies and you found you could no longer look him in the eye. Had he just used a pick-up line, and if he had, why were you falling for it? Such a thing would demand an eye roll, or a dismissive “ha ha” with a playful smack to the forearm, but certainly not a blush and a giddy stomach!

“I should take my leave,” he said before suddenly walking over to the entry hall.

“H-hold on,” you called, a little louder than you liked to admit. “Don’t you think I should know the name of my new neighbor?”

He turned over his shoulder, wearing a causal smile as Pom Pom panted and wagged his tail.

“My apologies, miss; I’m Robert Gray.”


End file.
